


First Night

by rapunzariccia



Series: DGA [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapunzariccia/pseuds/rapunzariccia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mag and Efrain stumble across Asher on coming back from the store. Alternate title: "hey efrain we're taking in the junkie whether you like it or not"</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Night

**Author's Note:**

> don't blame me for shitty representation of drug use, kids  
> what started off as a group of ocs for dragon age turned into DRAGOON AG, a much better uni rehash of these babies. love ensued. thx amdam

"put some pants on."  
"what? no, it’s late, there’s no need for pants."

ever prepared, she throws a pair at his head anyway. they catch him around the face, one leg draped inelegantly over the back of the well-worn couch he’d been sitting on. he doesn’t bother to pull them off at first.  
"dammit, mag," and then he emerges again. just to have his face resurface, not to put them on. it’s saturday night, he’s been channel-surfing for twenty minutes and been promised star wars in another ten, and he absolutely refuses to violate the cardinal rule of university. no club, no pants.

"get them on, champ," she says, and leans against the wall to watch him do it. barely 5" of foul-mouthed, no-nonsense attitude, and now it’s directed his way. it doesn’t take long before he’s caved. "i need junk," she adds by way of explanation. "couldn’t find any sweets in my drawers, and i know we’re all out of crisps. totally unacceptable."

efrain hums agreement and finishes buttoning himself into denim oppression. “i still don’t get why you need me to tag along with you for your junk runs. you’re _vicious_. no one’s gonna cross you.”  
"no one that i know," she corrects. "also, it’s hard to have a knife fight when you’re trying to carry groceries at the same time. what am i gonna do if i get jumped, sacrifice precious food? not happening."

he grumbles, but she has a point. he’d rather go out with her than entertain the idea that she might not come back at all, slung into some cop’s car because she stabbed an innocent partygoer for startling her. it hasn’t happened yet, but he has his suspicions that it might one day. magaira is a wild card and needs an eye on her most times, if only for efrain’s personal peace of mind. she watches him finish dressing and slips an arm through his as she walks them both out of the apartment.

 

* * *

 

it’s a fifteen minute trip to the local campus store that takes them all the way by the student’s club and sees them bring up morf’s latest obssession before they’ve rounded the corner. there’s always plenty to talk about with him - did you see what he brought to class? have you seen the pictures on his facebook? it’s got to be ironic, right? - and tonight’s no exception, though they do have to pause the conversation as they go by the club. it’s pumping out whatever’s popular that week - mag doesn’t keep up with hits or club music or anything that doesn’t conform to her personal preferences, and efrain has previously voiced the opinion that it all sounds the same to him - and though it’s muffled, it’s loud enough to make their heads buzz. the door is manned by a grim-looking bouncer that has them both talking about ben once they’re at a safe distance, but the street is absent of drunk clientele.

it’s different when they come back. they’ve a grocery in a hand each, arms still locked together, and the less hardcore clubbers have started to stumble out already for smoke breaks and to go in search of a better environment. they have to swerve to avoid a tall kid trying to dance in the street, and the motion has mag grip efrain’s arm tighter.  
"over there. is that- that’s a guy, right? he doesn’t look okay."

the area’s illuminated, but there’s a figure that’s stumbled into partial shadow and leaning against a wall like his life depends on it. once glance at the bouncers confirms that they’re busy trying to convince the dancer that the street isn’t the best place for flailing like a madman, and mag slips her arm out of efrain’s and walks over, bold as you please.

efrain catches up a moment after she gets there. she was right. the guy doesn’t look good, pale as ash, with blonde hair turned spiky hanging in his face. his eyes are closed and though he’s standing still he’s swaying on the spot.  
"you okay, kid?" she’s asking like she isn’t almost two heads shorter than the stranger, and reaching out to almost touch him on the shoulder. his lips move, but she doesn’t quite hear. "what?"  
"claude," the guy says, soft as a whisper. he lifts a hand and takes a couple of tries to cover his shut eyes. "claude. need… claude."

mag shoots efrain a helpless questioning look, which he can only shake his head at. it’s a foreign name to them - mag posits that she doesn’t know as many people as a person with her sexual history should do, and efrain is only really familiar with other history buffs and the few friends he’s made at bars here and there. the stranger mutters again, and then loses his grip on the wall.  
"maker," mag hisses. she’s there in an instant, catches him under the arm and takes his full sweaty weight. she grimaces. "gross. efrain, take my bag, or get his other arm."  
"what?"  
"we’ll take him back with us. shh, love," she adds as the guy moans pitiously. "we’ll take care of you. come _on_ , efrain, pick up the fucking slack already.”  
"but we don’t know him," he says mildly, moving to the guy’s other side and preparing himself for the inevitable stench of sweat.  
"and you’d let him sleep in the street? shame on you. he’s fucked up and his friend’s fucked off. not cool."

she shifts him so she can place a hand on his back, and the guy moans again, quieter this time. they share a look over his bent head, mag fierce and efrain resigned, and get moving

 

* * *

 

 

they’re all sweating by the time they get back, and their rescue started dragging his feet five minutes ago. mag’s started swearing with every third step, and getting him up the stairwell is a feat of superhuman power. “a testiment to the incredible fucking goodwill of yours truly,” she growls as she fishes the key out of her pocket and lets them all in. “dump him on the couch, maker. i need some different clothes after all that.”

she’s gone before efrain has a chance to try and stop her, and he’s left with the sagging underweight body. he drops the bag of junk - if he gets yelled at for it, who cares, rescuing charity cases wasn’t _his_ idea - and turfs the guy onto the sofa that he’d been enjoying less than an hour before. star wars is on and playing and now he doesn’t get to enjoy it.  
he turns the volume down low before he gets a look at the guy properly. it had been too dark outside to give a proper evaluation, but the kid’s a mess. he’s almost white as chalk and _skinny_ to the point that his clavicle is uncomfortably bare. there’s crusted blood at both of his nostrils, and his arms are covered with bruises and little scars, the proof of many a fight.

"shit," efrain says mildly. mag appears in the doorway in pyjamas, a thin blanket tucked under one arm.  
"he looks that good, huh?" she asks, and makes her way around the couch to get a better look. "shit," she says with considerably more feeling.  
"i’m going to take the time to remind you that this was your idea," efrain says. "i’m going to change. don’t sleep with him while i’m gone, i don’t think he could take it."  
"shut the fuck up!" she calls after him. the guy on the couch stirs. "you really are a mess," she says, and then a little louder, "you awake, kid?"

she gets a feeble grunt as an answer. “right,” she says, and then, “fuck.”

 

* * *

 

it’s still dark when she wakes up again, and for a moment she’s not sure why she’s opened her eyes. the clock says it’s not even 5 yet. way too early to be alive. she groans, and hears a crash from outside her room. “mmhmn,” she says by way of curse, and stumbles from bed.

efrain’s door is closed, so it can’t be him - besides, he doesn’t make that much noise when he gets up to piss during the night - and there’s shuffling footsteps coming from the kitchen. she makes her groggy way through and flips on the light.  
"fuck!"  
she flips it off again. there’s a sigh of relief from both of them, but she has his attention now. it’s the kid from the couch, looking considerably better after a short sleep, but still ultimately awful.  
"hum i?" the guy croaks.  
"what?"  
he coughs, tries again. “where ‘m i?”  
"my house. you were fucked up outside a club, your friends ditched you." she yawns, rubs some sleep from her eyes. "we’re students too, don’t worry."  
"cups?"

the request has her stymied for a moment before she takes it all in. he’s in the kitchen, it sounds like he’s broken something, and he’s been at a club only a few hours before.  
"you want water?" he nods, and she moves around him to get a glass and fill it for him. his hands, she notices, are shaking when he takes it from her, and he downs it like he’s spent three years at sea. he thrusts the empty glass her way. she takes it, fills it again, gives it back to him, and he does the same thing all over again. she’s just taken the glass from him when he pushes her out of the way and directs his vomit into the sink.

well. he could have aimed at the floor.

she stands awkwardly behind him and pats his back until he’s done, then keeps him bent over the sink just in case that wasn’t the last of it. his back is still damp under her touch, and he doesn’t try to push back. maybe he can’t. it’s dark in the kitchen, but she remembers looking at him in detail before she went to bed, and he’s thin as a rake. he doesn’t look healthy.

"right," she says. "move. don’t drink this," she says, filling the glass with water again. "wash out your mouth. spit- there you go. feel a bit cleaner? good. sit down, over there. table." she empties the glass, washes the vomit down the sink as best she can, fills it up again and joins him. "drink this _slowly_. little sips.” she waits, watches in the dark with her eyes squinted so she can verify he’s doing what she told him to, and when he places the glass down again it’s still mostly full. “good. now- you want to go back to sleep? or are you awake now?”

"awake," he says. he sounds like he’s been chewing glass. "just. sorry."  
"don’t worry about it. what’s your name?"  
"asher."  
"i’m mag. nice… to meet you, i guess. how do you feel?"  
"bad." a pause. "cold."  
"you want me to get the blanket again?"  
he nods, and she gets up to retrieve it. when she comes back it’s obvious he’s shivering. she dumps it around his shoulders and tucks it around him, then retakes her seat. there’s a pause.  
"thanks."  
"no problem."

they sit in silent, asher taking tiny sips every now and again, mag watching him as best she can in the dark. she’s awake now, dammit, which means her entire day is going to be thrown off. she thinks of efrain, blissfully unconscious a couple of rooms away, and has to fight the urge to go jump on his bed. it’s not his fault they brought home a drunk who could barely stand.

maker, she is just too considerate sometimes for her own good.

it’s getting light by the time that he yawns, and he’s still shivering. “bed,” she says in her no-nonsense tone. “i’ve got stuff to do today, and i’m sure you do as well, but a couple hours can’t hurt. you can sleep in my bed, the couch is awful. no, don’t stop me,” she says, though he showed no sense of protest. “just give me a minute, i need to write that asshole a note…”

 

* * *

 

morning brings only confusion to efrain. the couch is vacant and mag’s bedroom door is still shut, so the guy must be gone. The kitchen floor is covered with three plastic bowls, a small puddle of water by the sink and the blanket they’d deposited on their drunk charity case before going to bed themselves. There’s a dirty glass on the table, and a piece of paper - ah. it’s got his name in big purple crayon.

_EFRAIN -  
don’t worry abt the kid hes still here. in my bed. NOT SEX dont be an ass. his names asher. clean whatever mess there is i dont wanna do it also clean the sink please please i dont want to touch vomit when i get up again THANKS_

the writing’s wonky and gets progressively worse. she must have been half asleep when writing. he shrugs, puts the note back on the table, and turns to the bathroom to get a towel for the water.

half an hour later, it’s like there had been no carnage to clean up at all. he’s been out, bought the morning paper, come back and made a cup of coffee and is thinking about calling sarebaas to go for lunch when mag appears.  
"you look like shit," he says, and is rewarded with a middle finger directed his way. she slumps in the chair opposite him, takes his coffee, and drinks half of it in a single gulp.  
"Uhhhhhh," she moans, and pushes the hair out of her eyes. " _fuck_ today.”  
"Bad night?"  
"uhhhh," she confirms. "that kid woke up, fucked up the kitchen, woke me up. threw the fuck up in the sink like some kind of asshole. was up til sunrise," and she yawns to emphasise her point. efrain whistles.  
"what have we learned about helping people?"  
"fuck you," she says, and finishes his coffee. "i think i’m gonna have to cancel on vol, i’m too tired to go out and listen to her technobabble today. might nap again. when asher gets up i’ll walk him back to the club, try and find out who to give him back to."

 

* * *

 

it’s a plan easier said than done. asher doesn’t rouse until three. mag’s fallen asleep for the second time at that point, comfortable on the sofa with the tv on quietly. he stands completely still to look at the tv, though judging by the dark circles under his eyes, efrain isn’t sure whether he’s really focusing on the picture.  
"afternoon," he says. asher jerks like he’s been electrocuted, looks around until he finds the source and stares. it’s just a little unnerving. "i’m mag’s flatmate," he explains. "i, er. helped you back here last night? at the behest of lady follow-my-rules."

he’s testing her, too. if she’s awake, she’ll tell him to fuck off, but she remains blissfully silent. asher doesn’t look like he’s understood, just keeps staring.  
"my name’s efrain," he tries again. "you must be asher?"  
"asher," he confirms. there’s a pause.  
"… you want something to eat?"

 

* * *

 

they don’t talk over breakfast, for lack of anything to say. efrain feels like his questions will be too insensitive, and asher is intent on picking at his toast rather than eating it, so they’re both preoccupied in their own way. there’s movement from the other room, and efrain leaves the guest unattended to hang over the back of the couch.  
"good morning, sleeping beauty," he says. he’s treated to mag trying weakly to push his face away. "good sleep?"  
"is he still here?" she asks, eyes still closed.  
"yup."  
"damn. i was hoping you’d have taken care of him. did you call vol?"  
"why would i call your friends?"

he leaves her groaning and grasping for her phone to put another pot of coffee on. when she surfaces fully, half her hair is sticking straight up and she joins the boys at the table. the silence continues until she’s had most of her coffee, when she decides that joining the real world again is something she should probably do.

"so, i was thinking, we should take you back to your friends," she says to asher, who’s still methodically shredding his toast. "do you know where they might be? we could just take you back to the club, but i wouldn’t feel happy about just dumping you there-"  
"the club’s fine," he says, stringing together more words than ever before. mag makes an expression like she can’t believe this superhuman feat. "claude will go there first to find me."  
"you kept saying that name last night," efrain says. "claude’s your ride?"  
"… amongst other things," asher replies, though he looks uncomfortable to say it. mag makes an understanding noise.   
"we’ll get you two back together. no worries," she says, and slurps her coffee again. "you’re in good hands."

 

* * *

 

it turns out to be a shitty day. it’s windy and looks like it might rain, and asher only has what they dragged him home in - club gear, definitely not suitable for a daytime walk outside. efrain is ordered to give up a coat to bundle the thin mess in and does so reluctantly. “you have more coats than i do and he’s skinny enough to fit in your clothes,” he hisses to her as asher dresses, and is pinched for his recalcitrance. once their charge is buttoned into something that makes him look a little more human, he’s marched outside.

the club isn’t far from their flat, but the journey takes longer than expected, if only because asher keeps stumbling, whether blown about by the wind or just because he’s still drunk. mag ends up slipping an arm around him and marching him in a straight line to prevent him from embarrassing himself, and notes that under the coat he’s still shivering. the club’s open, but empty, and they’re able to slip inside without any problems.

"asher!"

it’s the barman that’s calling to them as they enter. the sound of his voice seems to rouse the hungover man, and he regains enough presence of mind to stride forward and lean against the bartop. mag and efrain follow, looking around as they go. as far as club spaces go, it’s not the cleanest of places, evidence of the night before still strewn about the floor and kicked under tables.

"hey, man. have you heard from claude? they disappeared last night, and-" here he shoots his benefactors a guilty glance, "i wasn’t in the best state. got rescued by strangers." he gives a fake little laugh, like this happens all the time. a crease appears between mag’s brows.  
"they haven’t been around today, but they left their number here last night - in case you turned up, i suppose. want me to call?"  
"please."

the barman does this simple favour, and the trio slide into a table close to the bar. apparently the effort of stringing together full sentences was too much for asher, who is sweating again and rubbing at his temples like he’s developed the worst headache of all time.  
"you okay?" efrain asks and doesn’t even get a grunt in response. he shares a worried look with mag, who touches asher’s elbow gently. he jerks to attention and winces like the movement was too much to handle. the worried glance returns, and mag moves her hand to the kid’s back instead.

in ten minutes, asher has stopped sweating but started yawning, the barman has started to mop the floor of the club, and someone they don’t recognise swaggers through the door. they’re wearing sunglasses _indoors_ , and all their clothes are black.  
"someone’s trying too hard," mag laughs under her breath, but asher recognises them.  
"claude!"

the newcomer walks straight up to them and pats asher’s shoulder twice, though they seem only perfunctory and they shove their hand right back in their pocket.  
"good to see you again, asher. thought i’d lost you last night. you wander off to get in a fight somewhere again?" asher doesn’t get a chance to explain himself before mag and efrain find themselves under scrutiny. "no, of course not, a couple of good samaritans took pity on you. _asher_ , you can’t keep doing this to yourself, you’re a mess. come on, bathroom, let’s get you cleaned up.”

asher has a pair of hands under his armpits and is hoisted to his feet in a second, and is being led away in another quick moment. mag has a full-blown scowl on her face as she watches them disappear to the toilets on the other side of the bar.  
"i don’t like this," she says. she starts to drum her fingers on the table before she realises her mistake. "eurgh, sticky. efrain - opinion."  
"don’t touch the tables," he says, eyes also on the toilet doors.  
"on the situation, you ass."  
"i don’t know what to think. they obviously know each other. this is what you wanted, right? a happy ending? him off our hands and back with someone he knew?"  
"well, yeah, but…"

she lets her worry hang in the air between them and starts to drum her fingers on the table again, stickiness be damned. when they return, she has to wipe her hand on her clothes. claude still has their sunglasses on, idiotic as they look. asher-  
looks more alive. mag’s frown returns in full force.

"thanks for looking after him last night," claude’s saying before they even reach the table. "didn’t expect him to go running off like that. he’ll be alright now, won’t you?"  
"yeah," asher says, and it comes out all a breathless rush. he’s still pale, still gaunt, but where he was shuddering and ill-looking before, he’s _smiling_ now. he fidgets with his hands for a moment, drumming them against his legs, before he holds his arms open toward them. "thanks for it. you guys are great. real heroes. hug goodbye?"

efrain’s hand has shot up and grabbed mag’s wrist before she can launch herself across the table. he’s seen the warning signs before, had to physically restrain the tiny girl from going out of her way to plant her fist square in some unfortunate’s face more than once.  
"volume," he says as she takes in a deep lungful to start yelling. she shoots him a dirty look and then shifts it to claude, whose expression hasn’t changed at all.  
"what did you do to him?"  
"i have no idea what you’re talking about."  
asher’s still standing with that goofy grin on his face, looking between them like he can’t understand why there’s so much tension all of a sudden. he drops his arms slowly, but the grin remains. it only seems to fuel mag’s anger.  
"you- fucking liar! he wasn’t like this not even five damn minutes ago, you took him to that bathroom and- asher," she says, dropping enough of the anger that her tone becomes disgustingly, worrying sweet. "are you okay?"  
"uh," he says.  
"i gave you water last night and you still felt crummy," and efrain winces, because if she’s not swearing then she’s madder than she’s been in a while, "so did you splash your face in the bathroom?"  
"uh," asher says again.  
"come on, sweetie, you can tell me."  
"asher," claude says. asher looks between them both. he’s still grinning, but behind it he looks panicked. "asher, are you really going to waste your- what, half an hour? hour, tops? on an angry child?"

” _HOW DARE YOU_ ,” mag roars, and efrain has to yank her back down again. the bartender hears, and now there’s a fifth person joining their melee.  
"everything alright, kids?" he asks in the reserved tone bartenders have cultivated over a long period of dealing with difficult customers.   
"absolutely fine," claude says without turning around. "just a little disagreement amongst friends. we’ll get out of your hair in a minute."  
the bartender, although dismissed, stays where he is.

"asher," mag says through gritted teeth. "sweetie, sweetheart, i want you to come home with us, we’ll take care of you, alright?"  
"sure," he says, and starts to move toward her, but he’s stopped by claude throwing an arm in front of him.  
"you don’t know them," they say, and it looks like they’re about to move forward themselves to physically fight mag, but something isn’t right.

"half an hour," efrain says. everyone stops to look at him. "what do you mean, half an hour? of being well?" claude, damnably, says nothing. "you’re keeping him on a proverbial leash- look at him, he’s fucked up."  
it still hasn’t clicked for mag, who’s trying to tug free from his grip. asher doesn’t seem to clock what’s going on, still fidgety and starting to roll onto the balls of his feet and back, trying to expend the nervous energy he’s been granted. claude might as well have been carved from stone. the bartender, satsified that they’re not going to try and kill each other just yet, has taken a couple steps back and is trying to mop up while watching them carefully.  
"he knows what he’s doing," claude says.  
"i’m not sure he does. asher, how you feeling there, buddy? good hit?"  
"what?" mag says at the same time asher smiles goofily again and goes, "yeah."

"right," efrain says, before mag can take another breath and start yelling. "asher, come back to ours, we’ll make you lunch. sound good? anything you want." he doesn’t wait for a response. "you," he levels at claude, who impressively doesn’t step back. efrain’s is a quiet fury and terrifying in its own right. "can back off for a while. i think you’ve done enough damage."

"whatever," claude says, and adjusts their jacket. asher jumps when they slap his shoulder gently, and shoots them this utterly disgusting look, all doe-eyes and fuzzy warmth that efrain can just _feel_ even from where he is. “asher, i’ll see you around. you know where to find me, or how to get hold of me, at any rate. don’t wait too long when you feel like shit, alright? you don’t want to end up like you did before.”


End file.
